


Flint and Friction

by ricochet



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:37:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricochet/pseuds/ricochet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today was just not interested in going well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

 

 

Nate opened his eyes to the sight of rough concrete close enough for him to map out imperfections no deeper than his fingernail. The air was still, but the voices to his right were thin, echoing against walls too far away to amplify the sounds. Letting his eyes fall closed again Nate breathed deep, and caught the smell of dust disturbed after a long time left to moulder. He was in a heap on the floor, points of numbness at his hip and knee where they pressed against the concrete through his clothes. The tips of his fingers were fine, no tingling where he flexed them behind his back, though the rope around his wrists were tight enough to pinch. They hadn't taken his shoes.

He breathed out slowly. The air here was dry.

"-amera working yet?" one of the voices filtered into his ears, words forming out of the haze of white noise in his head.

"It's fine. Whenever you can get him to read, we can do this."

Nothing hurt except for the irritated places where his own weight pressed him into the grit of the floor. Nate rolled his shoulders, and licked the back of his teeth. They must have given him something somehow, whoever "they" were. Not, he supposed as he heard the approach of footsteps, weighed down by heavy boots, that it mattered all that much.

The footsteps came to a stop behind him, and Nate heard the scrape of a thick sole against the floor. He was rolling away before the asshole had managed to do more than start the kick. He came up on his knees, barely dizzy but looking into the barrel of an AK. Nate stopped moving and waited for the next move.

A busted alarm clock, a three car collision, and now this. Today was just not interested in going well.

"Stand up, but slowly," said the man with the AK. Behind him Nate could see three others, two were armed and the last was standing by a camera and laptop. In front of the camera was a metal folding chair. Carefully, Nate eased himself onto his feet and pushed to standing. His legs held him, and his head was clear now, whatever they'd given him had burned off.

"Walk to the chair and sit down," the same man said to him, stepping back to allow Nate a clear path under the watch of three muzzles.

Nate rolled his shoulders again and looked around. He was in a warehouse, the ceiling and walls more than fifty meters away in every direction. The wall ahead of and behind him had windows along the top, maybe five feet below the ceiling. The structure would probably survive. As long as the crates under the laptop weren't explosives.

"Hey," snapped the nearest one, "I said go sit the fuck down."

Nate looked at the kidnapper, he wasn't wearing anything that marked an affiliation. His expression was still hostile and confident, no apparent nerves, and his grip on the AK was steady. A hired team, most likely, probably the kind who took business through a broker and wouldn't have the faintest idea who'd paid for their services. Irrelevant.

Heat kindled low behind his navel, and slid, easy and sweet, up through his belly and chest. It was always just a little frightening how good it felt, how utterly familiar. He flexed his fingers behind his back and felt the heat answer, racing down his arms. The ropes smoldered, twisted, and fell away.

"No," said Nate, and let the Fire climb out of his skin.

It sparked from his skin first, as always, twisting into the open air from his jaw, and sweeping back from his brow over the crown of his head. He was going to miss this shirt; Brad was so fond of it on the floor.

The face of the kidnapper had twisted into something as familiar as the fire eating away at his suit, abject terror. His training would reassert itself quickly, Nate was sure, but not as quickly as he could raise a hand and ignite the gunpowder in the spare ammunition clipped to his belt. The man went down screaming, and then he caught fire.

Around the chair the other three broke out of their shock. All three went for their weapons.

Everything flickered, Nate was looking at the world through a dance of orange and yellow light, the shimmer of heat distortion. The crate was wood, dry but treated. Inside it though, Nate could feel the fire waiting, calling like to like. He smiled, just the slightest curve of his mouth.

His kidnappers were still reaching for their guns when their IED, safe in its box, caught, and swallowed the three of them in a wall of fire.

Nate walked up to the fire and put a hand into it. Calling it back down was never as easy as letting it out, but he kept his breathing even, and got to work.

The door to the warehouse crashed open, and Nate's control hiccuped for a second. A gout of fire leaped for the roof.

Brad walked in, furious, and perfect, and welcome always. "What the fuck, Nate."

The fire flared and ebbed around him when he laughed. "I'm fine."

"No. You're on fire." Brad had seen him like this before, but he still stared. It might have something to do with the fine ash that was all that was left of Nate's suit. "That is many things, but it's not 'fine.'"

The burn of Nate's smile eased into something warm. "Give me a minute," he said, and slowly he coiled the Fire back to himself until it showed only as a flicker in his eyes.

When he blinked away the last of the after images, Brad was smirking at him.

"The car's three blocks away."

Nate raised an eyebrow, "shouldn't you go get it then?"

Brad's smirk was laced with its own kind of heat, no less lethal than what Nate held. "Last time I left you alone to go get the car, you got kidnapped."

The worst part was he had a point. Between that and the shirt he wasn’t likely to let Nate live this down any time soon. “You want me to walk three blocks barefoot?”

Brad reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Thought I’d just call the valet, and have it brought to the door.”

“Valet?” there was a sinking feeling in Nate’s stomach, it was the opposite sort of sensation to the build of Fire.

Grinning at him Brad didn’t answer until the call connected. “Ray?” he said into the phone, “I’ve got him.”


	2. Image

 


End file.
